


I'm Almost Me Again

by loubuttons



Series: Stark Raving Mad [9]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Peter Parker Angst, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Short One Shot, Tony Stark Has A Heart, poor communication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-15 15:14:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17531150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loubuttons/pseuds/loubuttons
Summary: Happy picks him up from school, a second lunch waiting in the back seat. Peter lets silence fill the space; he doesn’t feel like talking. In his backpack, he’s stuffed enough clothes for the next two days but knows he’ll end up wearing Tony’s old sweatpants anyhow. Somehow the idea weighs him down.





	I'm Almost Me Again

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this prompt: Peter has an Iron Man t-shirt. He wears it accidentally on a day he goes to the lab and Tony won’t shut up about it.
> 
> The title is taken from Almost (Sweet Music) by Hozier. Hope you enjoy!

Getting out of bed is a battle. Between a head cold and late patrols, Peter’s been struggling for days. He doesn’t bother to fix his hair or consider what he should wear. Eyes half-closed, he runs his fingers along the fabric of his shirts. He pauses at the softest one, worn and stretched out. It used to be Ben’s. Without stopping to inspect it, Peter casts it over his head. His jeans are picked the same way. It’s a new game he plays -- things are chosen based on sensation alone. He puts on the shoes that feel lightest on his feet and trudges to school. 

 

“You look rough, Man,” Ned says sympathetically, “Have you been...hanging out with your  _ friend _ too much?” 

 

“No, Ned,” Peter sighs, “I’m just tired,” 

 

“Yeah, but are you tired  _ because _ you’ve been hanging out with your  _ friend?” _

 

“Dude, can you stop saying it like that?” Peter glances over his shoulder, “People are gonna hear you,” It’s doubtful anyone is paying attention to them in the bustling cafeteria, but exhaustion makes him paranoid. 

 

“Sorry,” He looks genuinely contrite. 

 

Peter sighs. It isn’t Ned’s fault that he’s been patrolling too late, or that he can’t shake the odd feeling of loss today, “Don’t be, Man. Look let’s just talk about something else,” 

 

“Okay,” Ned nods, attempting to stay cheerful for Peter’s sake, “What do you think you and Mr. Stark are gonna work on this weekend?”

“I have no idea. He comes up with something new each week,” 

 

“I guess it would be hard to work on the same project for a long time if you were, you know, Tony Stark,” 

 

“Yeah, probably,” He’s aware he isn’t contributing much to the conversation, but the mention of Tony leaves him even more drained. 

 

“What’d you do last time? We never got to talk about it,” 

 

“He uh, taught me what to do if his arc reactor fails,” 

 

“He  _ what?”  _

 

“Yeah,” Peter nods, looking down. He’d intentionally avoided talking about last week. Despite it being necessary, it was harrowing. The entire process only served to make Tony mortal, and Peter feel like a child. He’d nearly vomited after being shown an x-ray of Tony’s ruined chest. 

 

“What are you supposed to do?” 

 

“Not let him die,” 

 

“Wow,” Ned says, amazed at the prospect of saving Ironman’s life. 

 

Silently, Peter wishes he could slip on his mask and never take it off. 

 

Happy picks him up from school, a second lunch waiting in the back seat. Peter lets silence fill the space; he doesn’t feel like talking. In his backpack, he’s stuffed enough clothes for the next two days but knows he’ll end up wearing Tony’s old sweatpants anyhow. Somehow the idea weighs him down. 

 

“You alright, Kid?” 

 

“What?” Peter’s chin snaps up, “Yeah, I’m good,” 

 

Happy eyes him from the driver's seat but doesn’t push it. During the drive, Peter dozes off. When they arrive at the Compound, he blinks at the driveway for a moment before remembering that he doesn’t want to go inside. 

 

_ Why doesn’t he want to go inside? _

 

He loiters so long that Happy opens his door, “You coming? Boss doesn’t like to wait,” 

 

Knowing that Happy is nothing more than concerned, Peter sighs, “Yeah,” He can’t quite force his voice to be cheerful. 

 

Peter stops to drop his bag off in his room. Standing in the doorway, he mourns the fact that he has a room. It presses on him. He’s hounded by the fact that there are clothes in the closet, notebooks on the desk. He stares at his bed and hates it. Peter doesn’t want to have two homes. 

 

“Kid?” 

 

He jumps at Tony’s voice, “What?” 

 

Tony raises his eyebrows, “What’re you doing?” 

 

“Just,” He lifts his backpack for him to see, “Putting my bag away,” 

 

“For an entire three minutes?” 

 

“What? You were timing me?”

 

Tony ignores him, “Why the space-out?” 

 

“Nothing,” Peter sighs, turning to lean against the doorway and face his mentor, “I was--”

 

“Hold on,” Holding up his hands, Tony interrupts, “Is that...you’re wearing an Ironman shirt,” 

 

“What?”

 

“That’s my arc reactor. Special edition -- that artist only made a thousand shirts. It’s like ten years old, where did you get it?” 

 

Peter looks tiredly into Tony’s bright eyes and says, “It was Ben’s,” 

 

“Oh,” He deflates, “Uh, Ben Parker had an Ironman shirt?”

 

“Yep,” Peter drops his bag to cross his arms over his chest, “He was a big fan,” Everything is heavy. The very thing that Peter despises is sitting against his chest. But it was Ben’s. He’s forced to stare at the floor.

 

“What’s up, Tater Tot? Is it, uh, Ben or something else?” 

 

Peter grits his teeth, trying to unknot his throat, “Something else. It’s nothing, Tony, I’ve just...been patrolling too much,”

 

“I know,”

 

“You know?” He looks at Tony’s uncomfortable smile in surprise. 

 

“Karen’s connected to F.R.I.D.A.Y., remember? What she knows, I know,”

 

Peter nods, “Right,”

 

“Do you want to talk about it? The-the shirt, the patrols, the…”

 

“Dead uncle?” 

 

“Woah, Pete,”

 

“Sorry, it’s just…” He shakes his head, “Is it inevitable? Is it just gonna fail?” Gesturing vaguely to his shirt, Peter lets his voice grow loud, “Is your heart just going to give out? Are you just going to drop dead and leave me with nothing but a t-shirt? And-and some reminders of how much it sucks on the holidays?” 

 

“Maybe,” Tony confesses.

 

Peter feels the tears spill over and fumes, “Then I want to go home,” 

 

“Okay,” 

 

He can hear the resignation in Tony’s tone. Some awful part of him wants his mentor to fight, to disagree, but knows he can’t. Tony’s seen too much to lie -- when you’ve had a hand inside your chest, you aren’t one to hold others. 

 

“Do you want to stay the night? Hap can drive you home in the morning,”

 

“Sure,” Peter says. 

 

“Alright, I’ll let him know,” Tony flees, no doubt desperate to hide in his lab. 

 

Defeated, Peter curls up in his bed, clutching the design on Ben’s shirt. It smells like May, who smells like Ben. The pillow smells like the Compound, which smells like Tony. He whimpers into the fabric and wishes someone could hold him. 

 

He wakes up hours later, head aching. When he sits up, his cheek sticks to the pillowcase. 

 

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., where’s Tony?”

 

“In his lab. Would you like me to tell him you’re awake?”

 

“Sure,” Peter flops back onto the mattress. Within seconds, he’s asleep. 

 

The second time he wakes, he sees Tony’s retreating back, “Wai’,” 

 

Eyebrows raised, he stops in the doorway, “Hey, Tater Tot. Need something? F.R.I.D.A.Y. said you were awake,”

 

“No, uh,” He sits up, rubbing his eyes, “No, I just. I’m sorry,” Tony clenches his fist, “I don't want to go home in the morning. This is my room ,” 

It doesn't make much sense, but he's barely awake. 

 

“Get some more sleep, Kid,” Tony says, obviously still hurt, but smiling, “We’ll talk in the morning,”

 

“Okay,” 

 

It was too much for Peter, realizing that the Invincible Ironman has death built into his body. The knowledge is still choking him. As he watches Tony turn out the light, he’s eight years old again, telling Ben goodnight for the first time instead of his Dad. It aches. It burns. But it won’t last forever.

 

“Tony,” He calls. 

 

“Yeah, Kid?”

 

“Goodnight,”

 

“Goodnight, Peter,”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought will comments and/or kudos. 
> 
> Come tell me hi on tumblr @loubuttons.


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